


Cat calls

by millygal



Series: Angriest Ginger In History [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Easy Wincest, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 00:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14367417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Four pawed family members are more trouble than they're worth!





	Cat calls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackrose_17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrose_17/gifts).



> For the spnspringfling 2018 challenge - I worked off a prompt that called, no it screamed, for crack :DDDD This is the result :DDD I'm so pleased the recipient loved it :) ♥ Thank you to jj1564 for the beta and the support! ♥

Sitting cross-legged atop the War Room table, surrounded by discarded packets of RingDings and Cheetos - indulging in a little heart rate raising snack snaffling - with his nose buried in a book he’s been dying to read for months, Sam finds himself immersed in a world of wizards and warlocks, of magic and mayhem. He’s about to find out exactly how the broad-chested buff cream cheese crafted hero fights his way out of the evil witch’s lair using only his wits and a few stray strands of his almost inhumanly strong butt-length hair, when he’s unceremoniously dragged from within his imagination by Dean hollering and swearing at ear splitting levels.

“Sammy, SAMMY! FuckityfuckingFUCK. GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!”

Why the fuck does he even bother?

All Sam wants to do is forget the crazy, the blanket of chaos that’s constantly smothering them; exchange it’s cloying darkness for a far more frivolous and fun universe.

Twenty minutes of peace and quiet, is that too much to ask?

Why exactly is it that whenever he’s finally managed a moment of zen, Sam hears his name attached to some seriously inventive curse words in Dean’s not so dulcet tones?

“SAMMY! Seriously, boy, get your butt up here right now or Im’ma make me a catgut guitar.”

Oh, oh dear. What’s he done now?

Rolling his eyes and uncurling himself from the table, Sam shakes out his shoulders and wonders how much Greebo’s newest transgression is going to cost him.

Admittedly, when he brought home the flea-bitten, mite-infested creature that’s been doing everything in its power to piss Dean off for the last three weeks, Sam thought it would be _perfectly_ fine. A few vet visits, a couple of flea treatments and they’d have a nice ratting cat that occasionally might like to warm their feet on cold nights in the Bunker.

What actually happened was that he made the mistake of naming him after the nastiest pet in the history of literature, and now all Sam seems to do with his time is chase after Dean chasing after the cat, with a deadly glint in his brother’s eyes, and cat-o-cide on his mind.

It possibly wasn't such a good idea calling him Greebo. That _might_ have been asking for trouble, but the cat was so beat up and scarred it seemed like the most appropriate thing to do.

“ **SAM**!”

Sighing and listening to Dean’s continuous string of expletives drifting down the stairs, Sam smirks and shakes his head. “Whatever it is you did Greebs, I hope it was worth it.”

“Man I swear if you don’t fucking get up here I’m gonna - “

Steeling himself for Dean’s best impression of a grouchy old man, Sam ascends the stairs and turns towards their bedroom. “I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your panties on.”

Sam turns into their bedroom, and is met by a sight that will amuse the hell out of him for the rest of his natural or unnatural life.

The television Dean insisted on installing in their bedroom is laying on the floor with a shattered screen and Dean is hopping up and down on the dresser it was sitting on, whilst Greebo steadily works his way through every single pair of Dean’s boxers shorts. Chewing, batting, mauling, generally using and abusing the poor pieces of shredded cotton now strewn across the bedroom carpet in ragged pathetic tatters.

All the while he happily bites down on Dean’s boxers, Greebo is yowling as loud as he can, making nasty hissing and spitting sounds.

Every time Dean makes to hop down off the dresser, the cat pins him with a look that says, _“Try it and I’ll eat you, too.”_

“Sam, I swear to Chuck I will end that thing if you don’t find a way to stop it eating my underwear, you hear me?”

Sam’s eyes narrow as he studies the mess on the floor and realises, with glee, that there isn’t a pair of his boxers anywhere in sight. “Dean - he only ate yours.”

“I’m fully aware of that fact, numbnuts. Stop him, please, or I’m gonna be going commando for the next three months.”

“I like you commando, Dean.”

“If it’s a choice, fine, but I refuse to be balls out because that **thing** can’t get its unearthly appetite under control. Sammy, come ON!”

Sam snorts at Dean’s desperate exasperation and bends down next to the cat - using a particularly brightly coloured Captain America stars and stripes pair of Dean’s underwear as a hat. “It’s not an it, or a thing, Dean.”

Reaching out to scratch Greebo behind a half chewed off ear, Sam smiles down at the cat and clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “Greebs, dude, let the pants go.”

“I don’t wear PANTS, Sam.”

“If you don’t shut up you won’t be wearing anything - pants, boxers, or frilly lace covered panties.”

Dean clears his throat and looks mightily embarrassed. “I don’t wear lace panties, either.”

Sam tries not to laugh and continues stroking Greebo’s head. “Of course you don’t, you big tough man, you.”

Finally, after much petting and cooing, Sam manages to get Greebo to relinquish his hold on Dean’s remaining intact boxer shorts. Straightening and offering the two pieces of precious underwear to his brother, Sam watches, horrified and tickled pink, as Greebo spins on the spot and fixes his beady eyes on Dean’s crotch.

Dean’s off the dresser and running before Sam can say anything, and the cat makes chase, practically wheel spinning he’s so intent on the only pair of Dean’s underwear left untouched by his jagged, chipped teeth.

“Oh HELL no!”

“Dean, don’t run, you’ll only look like prey.”

The sound of Dean’s impressive weight being brought down by a ratty ginger tom with illusions of grandeur can be heard echoing through the Bunker, and Sam thinks perhaps he should rescue his brother.

Sam doesn’t want his toys damaged, after all.


End file.
